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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442801">Claire's Confession</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlcatcher/pseuds/owlcatcher'>owlcatcher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Gifted [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adultery, Cock Worship, F/M, Hung Shota, Large Cock, Mind Manipulation, Porn With Plot, Precum, Pregnancy, Slow Burn, Underage Sex, excessive cum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:33:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlcatcher/pseuds/owlcatcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thousands of first hand accounts describing encounters, interactions and incidents between gifted newcomers<br/>and their families, close acquaintances, nurses and teachers are stored in the depths of the institute's archive.<br/>They are used for internal training purposes and - sometimes - for a good, leisurely read.<br/>Some of them contain short snippets or casual anecdotes with no lasting impact, noteworthy because they<br/>contain a subject of interest. Others however describe how a single encounter would be the starting point of a life changing<br/>chain of events.</p><p>This is Claire's Confession and the story of how she fell for a special boy and accepted his generous gift!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Gifted [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Claire's Confession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
<tt>Title: Claire's Confession<br/>
File-ID: 7S7771-02-001992A<br/>
Created: 2018-11-22<br/>
Last edited: 2019-01-02<br/>
Reporter: Claire Williams (ext. 263772-A110-CW)<br/>
Reporter-Class: Victim-Encounter<br/>
Report-Type: Monologue, first hand witness recollection, first hand victim report<br/>
Confidence Level: III ( for internal educational and recreational use )</tt></p><p>____________________________________________________________________________________________________________</p><p>If I had to pick where this story starts, it would be right at the beginning, when Tom and I decided to get married, more than 5 years ago.<br/>
We were high school sweethearts, and fell in love, and still are, If i might add. I succumbed  to his somewhat nerdy charm and wits, the skinny<br/>
but firm body, his geek glasses and full lips, and he must have found something in me that was appealing at least. </p><p>But this might be an understatement. I did not think too much of myself back in those days, and let's be honest, how many 18 year olds do?<br/>
My proclivity towards sarcasm and self deprecating thoughts certainly was much higher back then.<br/>
We lived together until we were 21, then marriage came and it was a huge deal.</p><p>That day itself was just galloping by, colorful, fast and lovely to remember, but the realization what actually happened, came days later.<br/>
We were husband and wife, like grown ups, maybe we had already changed into adults along the way and didn't notice it.<br/>
But on that one, specific, rainy fall morning, when I sat on the porch, wrapped in blankets, a coffee in my hand,<br/>
I was hit with the realization that life is no longer pretend and prepare but we were both in the midst of it.<br/>
It made me choke and panic for a while and triggered a subconscious sense of urgency and unrest in me.</p><p>And soon after I noticed a change within myself. I, the somewhat thorny rose, was always the first one to declare to my mother,<br/>
and if possible, the whole world, I'd never like to have kids and had all the reasons to support this notion at hand, would proudly sputter out<br/>
facts and rationally reasoned tidbits that should make it obvious, to even the densest in the room, that having  kids was never an option.</p><p>My mother, (if I may add to 4 children) always retorted kindly and with a warm smile,</p><p>"Oh Claire, you don't understand, my dear. Just wait!", she always replied. </p><p>And her eyes glistened, appeared absent minded for a second, as if she recollected a close to heart memory. </p><p>What my mother knew, and I completely disregarded with all the teenage stupor I could muster was,<br/>
It's rarely a rational consideration that controls the urge to be a parent.</p><p>Mankind, sometimes, sitting in the shiny, high castle of civilization, able to manipulate, calculate and estimate seemingly all aspects<br/>
of the world, is capable to rationalize away the most basic truths of its existence:<br/>
Deep down we're still beings, tied to an ancient process of creation and procreation.</p><p>And nature bloody well made sure to remind me of that.<br/>
After my realization on the porch it began. At first it manifested itself as an unrest and nervous tick,<br/>
sometimes I had troubles sleeping or light mood swings. Then, a few weeks later, it was a singing thin voice<br/>
in the back of my head. It nudgedd and pleaded without speaking, sweet and alluring.  It worked its way through all<br/>
layers in my brain, until it reached the area where it was possible to form a thought from it:</p><p>"I wanted a baby!"</p><p>I cannot remember If I expected Tom to be delighted by my proposal. But I surely know, he was. Tom is a good husband, by all accounts.<br/>
Our intimate moments are sensual, and satiating, he keeps himself fit, as much as his work allows and our sex has always been,<br/>
and is still, enjoyable. He is built larger than average but  after all these years we had accommodated well, knew each other's<br/>
sensitive spots and foibles and went on. </p><p>I got rid of the pill, he left out the rubber years ago, I tracked my cycle and we tried. Many times.<br/>
At first full of anticipation, then with vigorous eagerness until, at last, we concluded something was wrong.</p><p>The disappointment strained our relationship somewhat. It had no lasting impact, but whenever the conversation<br/>
circled around our joint efforts and failure to succeed, there was a hint of reproach in the air, unspoken and unaddressed:</p><p>'If thousands of people can get pregnant by accident, why can't we by intent?'</p><p>We decided to take matters to a doctor and were examined thoroughly. It was found my machinery seemed to operate just fine,<br/>
but much to Tom's chagrin, the doctor deemed his sperm count too low, and whatever was alive in his jizz, did,<br/>
for the most part, not qualify for any swimming competition.<br/>
We were both crestfallen and desperate. But I guess for him, my beloved husband, it was the hardest pill to swallow.</p><p>Of course it is easy to snicker about the fragile male self-image or machoism, but I felt deep empathy and did all I could to<br/>
stabilize and support him. Tom was invalidated and dismembered, convinced his body and sexuality was now nothing more than a<br/>
charade, since it was unable to fulfill the very task it was built for, at least on the most fundamental level. </p><p>And I would have disagreed with him on any other occasion, but this time he was right.<br/>
After all, I wanted to get pregnant and for the time being I couldn't. And it broke both our hearts.</p><p>However, there was still the option for an IV fertilization. But compared to a night of lovemaking, gymnastics and cuddling<br/>
afterwards, the idea of a sterile procedure seemed daunting to us and we requested some time to ponder,<br/>
being under the impression that we had not yet reached the level of despair warranted for it.</p><p> </p><p>In the end we turned out to be just fine, but for the completely wrong reasons.</p><p> </p><p>Tom was sensitive and receptive. When he realized that the continuing struggle to get us a child strained my soul, he acted inconsiderably<br/>
to make amends and calm my senses - and committed his best mistake ever.<br/>
He got us Kerry, a lively, blue eyed goofball of an Australian Shepard dog. </p><p>I could not even form a sentence to reprehend him, before Kerry's eyes, happy smile and wiggle released a torrent of surrogate motherly<br/>
love and affection in me, and I was hooked, just like that.<br/>
We both knew, a dog would never nullify our yearning for a child, but it attenuated  the attrition and strain we felt and provided us with a little<br/>
more time. In return we were rewarded with unconditional love from this adorable, furry creature. </p><p>. . </p><p>It was three years ago, on a Saturday morning in May. I remember Tom was assigned to a  solar park project in Arizona and on-site for<br/>
another week. I just had finished facetiming him when I noticed Kerry begging for a walk. </p><p>I gulped down the rest of my luke-warm coffee and dressed weatherproof.  During the night it rained abundantly for hours, but now,<br/>
at 10 A.M. the sun was prevailing, dissolved the foggy remnants of clouds and the weather forecast promised a sunny day ahead.  </p><p>After all, I got lots of time to bide, being alone in the house with a dog as only companion.  I packed some treats, snacks and water into my<br/>
knapsack, grabbed her leash and we left. Kerry was excited, barked joyfully and jumped when I opened the trunk of my old Volvo station<br/>
wagon. She knew, we would go for a longer walk. </p><p>I had a favorite round trip through the woods, whenever I had 3 hours or more to spare. We left our little town, took the road 2 miles north,<br/>
then a right turn and followed a gravel road, until we reached a little spot to park our car. Nearby one of the trails went by, meandered through<br/>
the woods and hills, across a small stream. A few miles down it met with another one leading back to the parking spot.<br/>
It was a perfect Saturday morning walk. </p><p>As always, I was alone. Kerry and I got out, she shot straight into the nearby forest, doggishly excited, zooming and I laughed. I wished a simple<br/>
walk would excite me nearly as much as her. He whistled her to follow me. I knew she would catch up, minutes later after the initial high<br/>
had settled down.</p><p>So I wandered, at a good pace, as I always do, soaked in the damp, cold spring air, witnessed the dew evaporate slowly, listened to the birds chirping<br/>
and bleating, fighting for attention and a mate.  My feet touched the soft and wet forest floor, I felt calm and at rest, breathing steadily and even,<br/>
reaching inner peace and zen. It was beautiful, and even though there was a big, gaping hole in my soul, still waiting to be filled with childish<br/>
laughter and a big eyed face to kiss, I felt content and even if it would never happen, I had the hope i would be able to endure it.</p><p>Then, suddenly Kerry stormed by me, excited and barked. Was there somebody? I called her back. She returned, but seemed endlessly agitated<br/>
and happy at the same time, and lead me to follow her.</p><p>"What did you find, Kerry?", I asked and jogged, my interest awakened.</p><p>50 yards ahead, on the forest floor, somebody was sitting. I got closer, </p><p>Kerry had already reached the source of her excitement, mustering the the person ahead, wiggling and barking joyfully.<br/>
When I reached the stranger, I saw it was a boy, all alone.</p><p>He rested on a little knoll, next to the path, a mountain bike leaned against a nearby tree trunk. He appeared unwell and distressed. </p><p>"Hello. Do you need help?", I asked him, slightly worried.</p><p>He looked maybe 10 or 11 years old, wore a helmet and typical cyclist attire, a colorful, long sleeved shirt and black lycra pants,<br/>
but I noticed he was wet and muddy, his face dirty. Then I saw the bloody  scratches on his arms and the ugly abrasions below his right knee.<br/>
'Maybe he fell?', I guessed.</p><p>I mustered his face again. The strange boy was handsome, his eyes grey with a hint of green, pouty lips  and a pointy nose,<br/>
Although he seemed slim, it was obviously not his first bike ride. He had strong thighs and calfs, his body radiated a prepubescent athleticism,<br/>
which, strangely enough, instantly excited me. </p><p>"Hello", he finally answered.</p><p>"I crashed my mountain bike over there going down the hill", he began to explain with a calm, but shaky voice.</p><p>"My tires are trash now and my phone destroyed", he lamented.</p><p>He showed the remains of his phone. Although it was enclosed by a black silicon case, the  impact had destroyed its screen beyond<br/>
recognition. Then I gazed at his bike. The front wheel was bent and the tire completely without air, </p><p>"I crashed on a big stone, I could be dead. But it doesn't matter. My mom will kill my anyways for this.", he explained, and his voice<br/>
broke down.</p><p>He was in tears and sobbed silently, And for moment I felt completely out of my element.</p><p>What even  was the right thing to do now? Should I hug and console him? I did not know this kid, was it even appropriate to interact with him?<br/>
Why did I even have to think about what the right thing to do was?</p><p>Then I scolded myself for my obvious ineptitude to handle such a minor crisis.<br/>
Here was a child in distress, alone, of course I console and help him, take care of his wounds and then bring him back home.</p><p>I approached him and stroked his back.</p><p>"Hey, I am here to help you. I am Claire, by the way!".</p><p>He looked up, his eyes wet and swollen.</p><p>"Nathaniel..., I mean Nate", he replied.</p><p>"OK Nate, nice to meet you. First, is there anything broken? Can you still move all limbs?", I inquired.</p><p>"It think so. But it hurts a bit when I move.", he answered.</p><p>"Let me help you with these scrapes. I have water and some wet wipes. I will remove the dirt and  clean them a little, OK?"</p><p>He nodded silently. A woman walking her dog is always prepared. I took off my knapsack, ordered Kerry  to sit next to my side and<br/>
opened it. The Aussie was still exited and mustered the hurt boy, trying to cheer him up. And while she sat and obeyed my command,<br/>
Kerry sneakily inched forward until she entered Nate's reach and begged for a pet.</p><p>The boy beamed a shy smile.</p><p>"She likes you very much", I assured him, "you can pet her if you want".</p><p>He stretched out his hand and rubbed her forehead. Kerry moaned, satisfied.</p><p>"She is so soft", Nate remarked, "What a beautiful dog!".</p><p>I opened the pack of wet wipes and knelt down. </p><p>"Of course she is all cute and cuddly. But wait until she doesn't get her will, then it's grumpy time all the  sudden!",<br/>
I remarked and smiled.</p><p>Nate giggled. "Just like a kid", he noted.</p><p>"OK, Nate, this will hurt a bit. These kind of wounds burn like hell.", I announced and began to wipe the dirt and<br/>
specks from the abrasions on his leg. I was very careful, but when I looked up, he was grimacing for a bit, and then,<br/>
by accident, I glanced at his crotch.</p><p>There was a huge lump in it, and for this single second, I disregarded the initial impression. Often, a first glance can be misleading,<br/>
a delusive reflection, fabric folding in a strange  way or something else. </p><p>But when my gaze scraped by for a second time, it became obvious, there was a big, heavy bulge in it, overflowing and bulky.<br/>
I felt my heartbeat accelerating. I guessed he wore some kind of suspension, like footballers do, to protected the precious<br/>
bits down there. </p><p>"I hope it isn't too bad?", I asked Nate, who sat and endured his ordeal.</p><p>"No, I will be fine", he pressed out, in obvious discomfort. </p><p>"You're doing  great. I guess, you're a big boy already.", I complimented him.</p><p>Was that a smirk? </p><p>The boy smiled at me, ambiguously, then nodded.</p><p>"Of course I am, Claire!", Nate stated, matter-of-factly, with a hint of barely concealed pride.</p><p>His answer made my curiosity rise even more. Obviously I could have chosen different words, but wasn't it my intent to justify another,<br/>
third look at the overstuffed lycra between his legs?</p><p>And his smile, Oh, that little rascal. If even half of that bulge was the real thing, he would be more than just a big boy.<br/>
Absentmindedly I licked my lips while carrying on. I glanced again - It was no suspension. The bulge's outline wasn't smooth and even,<br/>
distinct shapes could be recognized behind the thin veil of the stretched out fabric. </p><p>'Oh my god' i thought and shivered. 'This cannot be true, has he stuffed a kitten in there?'.</p><p>Then I forced myself to look away, but it was too late. Of course he had caught me staring. </p><p>But instead of showing discomfort or shame, Nate just expanded his grin and nodded.</p><p> </p><p>It's hard to describe, what I felt during that awkward moment. </p><p>There was, of course, the initial shame of being exposed,  but his acknowledging nod was not dismissive or reproachful.<br/>
Nate showed no signs of shock or feeling violated. He was just a boy accepting a stare at his crotch and letting me,<br/>
the transgressor, off the hook complacently. This boyish smirk provided for the  first gusher of pussy juice leaking into my<br/>
panties and  planted the root for my illicit yearning and the events to come.</p><p>"Can you get up, Nate?", i asked.</p><p>"Sure", he answered and stood up and moved his legs, still a bit gingerly.</p><p>"Where do you live? I could give you a ride home.", i offered.</p><p>"In Pine Woods", he answered. </p><p>"But this is ... some 15 miles away from here?", I replied, slightly puzzled.</p><p>The boy shrugged.</p><p>"Yes, I got up early today. I planned a big tour and it ended with a big crash.". He grinned weakly</p><p>"Is there anybody I can call, your mother or father?", I carried on.</p><p>"My mom should be home, but her number is saved on the trashed phone, I don't have it remembered", he coyly answered.</p><p>"Not even a landline number?", I tried to dig deeper.</p><p>He shook his head.</p><p>Looking at his dirty attire and skin, I suddenly had an idea...</p><p>"Nate, how about this? We carry you and your mountain bike to my car? Luckily Kerry and I just started our walk. It's less than  a mile away.<br/>
Do you think you could manage this?"</p><p>The boy lightened up.<br/>
"Sure, Claire!".</p><p>I returned an inviting smile. </p><p>"We drive to my house. You get a warm shower, a hot chocolate if you want, and some of my husband's clothes.<br/>
I look up your mom's number, call her and bring you back home, freshly showered, neat as a pin?!",<br/>
I offered him sincerley.</p><p>Nate beamed a disarming smile.</p><p>"This would be great, Claire!".</p><p> </p><p>When I started my walk, I was looking for fresh air, peace and serenity. And now it seemed, I returned to my<br/>
car with a dirty boy, and even dirtier thoughts in my head.</p><p>And I felt elated. Did I know what the setup would lead to at that time? Definitely not. </p><p>Until this moment I had nothing more than  a vague hope to maybe see him nude for a split second and burn this<br/>
vision forever in my mind, fantasize on it until it was bleached out and pale, until the biggest vibrator in my household would help me<br/>
succumb to my desperate lust, while I held his image close to my depraved thoughts,</p><p>At this moment however, there was nothing more than his acknowledging smirk when he caught my eyes  peering at his cookie jar and my<br/>
hidden desire to taste all of them. </p><p>In hindsight I've never been more wrong in judging a situation.</p><p>. . . </p><p>We slowly followed the trail downhill. Kerry, eternally excited about the encounter, circled us, herded Nate and me back to<br/>
the car. I pushed his dented bike, while the boy trotted next to me, still gimpy and visibly hurt. He had taken off<br/>
his bicycle helmet and hung it over the handle bar, I studied his face again.</p><p>Nate's hair was ruffled and chestnut brown, the boy's complexion lightly tanned, of mediterranean quality.<br/>
I glanced at his pouty, soft lips, the pronounced philtrum and probably beamed him a dreamy smile.</p><p>We started to talk along the way. I learned he had two younger sisters, his father was a truck driver and his mother ... complicated.<br/>
I nodded appreciatively as he casually remarked he was an A-student, but by no means a nerd. The boy sounded young and naive and yet,<br/>
already level-headed and grown-up.</p><p>I adored his voice. It was a boyish alto, unexcited and sober when casual topics were addressed. But as our conversation turned to bicycles and<br/>
music, his vocals rang exalted and passionate, the energy barely contained. </p><p>In that moment I came to the aching realization there was a real chance, I'd never talk to my own son this way. These precious minutes of casual<br/>
conversation between us strangers appeared  so intimate and familiar, an inkling how it would feel to to be around my growing child.<br/>
I was grasped by a dull sense of longing.</p><p>Of course, I could not help a few glances at his shorts, his strong, yet slender legs, and the lump in the  middle, moving in peculiar ways,<br/>
overstuffed and bulging, but this time I made sure he would not catch me again. </p><p>A little later we reached the Volvo, I managed to stuff his bent bicycle in the trunk, Kerry hurried into her box and we drove back. </p><p>As we got closer to my house, the tension and anxiety in me slowly rose and I couldn't even fathom, why exactly.<br/>
Was it the guilty conscience already buggering me? But how could it be? </p><p>There was no sinister master plan, how I would take advantage of him, no ruthless plotting on my side. And the short-circuited thought to help<br/>
Nate and take him to my home harbored barely any ulterior motive. And if it existed, what was it exactly?</p><p>Until now I never felt, in any way, attracted to boys. God, they were a nuisance at best. Unfinished beings, fragile and high maintenance,<br/>
complicated and moody. One could adore and love them in a motherly or sisterly fashion of course. But beyond that? No way!</p><p>And yet, here I sat in my car, already shivering in anticipation of something vaguely unthinkable happening. Nate sat next to me, lazily resting,<br/>
his eyes closed, while I endured a turmoil in my head.</p><p>I sighed. He opened his eyes and mustered me, threw a faint grin.</p><p>"Are you OK, Claire?", Nate asked softly.</p><p>I nodded, avoiding his gaze and shortly after, we reached the house.</p><p> </p><p>. . </p><p>I showed Nate around, then went to the kitchen, made him a hot chocolate and brewed a coffee.<br/>
Upstairs, I directed him to the large bathroom and hurried to the closet. I knew, somewhere in those drawers was a bunch of Tom's<br/>
old clothes, still from high school days.</p><p>I figured, they would be a too large for Nate, but just fine to bring him back home. His bike shirts and pants were muddy, wet and ripped.<br/>
I decided to put them in a bag later to let his mother deal with them.</p><p>After some browsing I stumbled upon a worn out jeans, a sweatshirt, an old boxer and some socks  picked them up and went to the bathroom.</p><p>"Here, I got you something to dress afterwards. These are Tom's. But he won't wear them any more. They might be a bit wide,<br/>
but you'll grow into them", I handed him the batch and smiled. </p><p>"Over there is a fresh towel you can use. Now, clean yourself, Nate", I closed while I felt my heart racing. </p><p>"Thanks a lot for helping me, Claire", he thanked me.</p><p>"You're welcome Nate, very welcome!", I managed to squeeze out, turned around and went downstairs, churning.<br/>
I just couldn't take it any longer. </p><p>I tried not to care, not to think about that - by now - he would have closed the door, probably locked it (or maybe not), stripped his dirty attire,<br/>
slowly, carefully avoiding any painful moves, then fully nude, glimpsed at himself in the large bathroom mirror, with a smirk or<br/>
a boyish grin, stepped into the shower, and slowly turned around, while the warm drizzle soaked his smooth skin. </p><p>I assumed he would carefully clean and wash his body, from head to toe, but invest some extra time  in his cock and balls.<br/>
Would he carefully inspect his foreskin ( if he even had one ), retract it  and clean it, while looking down, focused at the matter?<br/>
Would he soap and scrub along the length of it? Would Nate wipe eagerly along his ass crack and balls?<br/>
And why on god's green earth did I even care about it? It was clearly none of business!</p><p>I sat down on the couch, but it was feeble of me to even try to relax. My body was trembling and for a short moment I scoffed at myself<br/>
and my pitiful composure. What was wrong with me?</p><p>An eternity later I heard bare footsteps, Nate came down the stairs, my chest was squeezed - a wave of anxiety spread and engulfed my<br/>
poor body in its entirety.</p><p>You may ask whether I was already under his command at this very moment? I am pretty sure, until then, it was all me, tormenting myself<br/>
with urges, implicit hopes and silly antics. But the questions stands, what the initial trigger was.</p><p>How could one glance at a boy's crotch be the catalyst for all this? Was it possible for one acknowledging nod and smirk to release such an<br/>
avalanche of conflicting  emotions and turmoil in me? You may say, in all other instances: Never. If so, then I was already wrapped around his finger,<br/>
since I tended to his wounds, back in the woods.</p><p>He approached me, just the towel wrapped around his waist. I glared at his torso, smooth, yet already well defined and somewhat athletic.<br/>
His hair was disheveled and still damp. Nate stopped  in front of the couch and peered at me, mysterious and eerie. </p><p>"I am very grateful, you helped me, Claire". He spoke softly.</p><p>Then he whispered.</p><p>"I know what you want!"</p><p>Puzzled, i looked up.</p><p>His eyes glared and began to glow in a beautiful, swirling grey green pattern of heavenly light. I stared, captivated and hypnotized.</p><p>"Please do not torture yourself!", he begged me and came closer. Then he unwrapped his towel. It fell to the ground<br/>
- in slow motion - and I saw, what he "really" was for the first time.</p><p>To me and in this very moment, Nate was a harbinger of youthful fertility, an otherworldly spirit. The juxtaposition of his slim body and the<br/>
powerful masculine assets attached to it, resonated in such unpredictable ways, I snapped. Something broke in me. </p><p>I stared at the perfect, hairless cock, long and thick, his large, smooth balls and succumbed.<br/>
How much of it was of my own volition? And what of it was his nudging and persuasion? How should I know?</p><p>You tell me, you lab coats and experts! What does it take to turn me into a slut?<br/>
I always thought, it was way more the world could provide for. But in reality, all it took, was this damn boy.</p><p> </p><p>The only thing I know and vividly remember was, i grabbed his cock, still limp at this moment, stroked and kneaded,<br/>
as if my life depended on it. It grew longer and even fatter and erected in front of my puzzled eyes until it throbbed in its full,<br/>
powerful glory.</p><p>How big it was? How would I know? I am not that kind of woman, with a ruler in her pockets all the time. But I enclosed it with both of<br/>
my hands and can declare with certainty, another pair of them would have fit easily and still not reach over the tip. </p><p>It was slightly bent upwards now, twitched with Nate's heartbeat, the foreskin retracted, partly exposing half of his glistening cock head.<br/>
The smooth  balls below, mouthwatering, were lazily swinging back and forth, large as avocados.  And the smell of it!</p><p>It was addictive, there was the musky tone, clear and dominant, but attenuated, diluted and mixed with sweet innocence and a note of<br/>
metallic vanilla. It drove me insane! </p><p>You wanna know what I did next?<br/>
Yes, you're right!</p><p>I yanked back his foreskin slowly, the tip laid bare, covered in a  clear, thick film of his precome. I inhaled deeply and my body shivered,<br/>
I felt an overpowering surge in my pussy and started to drip. I'd never felt so desperately horny in my life, aching for somebody to ram me<br/>
to unconsciousness and then back to my senses, I could barely breathe.</p><p>I didn't even know, boys were able to leak, but I swear to god, Nate's poured out of him, dripped down to the ground, in long gluey strings.<br/>
And I, the stupid whore, picked the glistening threads out of the air, before they would touch down and slobbered them,<br/>
like the slut I just turned into.  </p><p>Then I swallowed his cock head with a hunger I never endured before, I forced him in until I began to gag, massaged his thick snake and<br/>
chugged down whatever i could muster. God, he was so big! And then I heard him whisper</p><p>"Oh, you're helping my again. Thank you!". </p><p>The temerity of it! </p><p>He thanked me for being his little cock-sleeve, his human flesh light, while he absolutely made sure I had no other option.<br/>
But... would I even have acted differently if I had a choice back then? I hate to admit, I am not so sure anymore.</p><p>His hands found my head and he began to push deeper. </p><p>"Yes Claire, deeper", he requested, whispering.</p><p>I don't know how I managed avoiding to choke, vomit and pass out. I could hardly breathe, but my throat felt no pain, was somehow numbed.<br/>
He forced my head down, accelerating, jerked me up and down, entered my throat and fucked it like a puppet head.<br/>
Shortly before I began to fear for my life, Nate let out a long moan, followed by a boyish, alto whimper.</p><p>"Aah, Claire", he announced, caught in the bliss of is buildup, "I cannot hold it"</p><p>And then this little bugger unloaded, straight into my throat, I felt him pulse and the hot, sticky cum splattered  into my stomach.<br/>
Nate threw back his head, his eyes closed, the legs trembling. The fat balls, close to his  body, unleashed a torrent of jizz.<br/>
But he was a grateful boy, After 10 pulses or so, still shooting, he pulled out, until  the fat glans rested on my tongue again.<br/>
Then he carried on, and plastered my tongue and mouth with the remainder of his climax.<br/>
He wanted me to taste and chew on it, twiddling with the gooey strands, using my tongue. I was overwhelmed and swallowed,<br/>
obediently, like a cum slut, like a bukkake princess, while his virile, viscous, boiling cum gurgled.</p><p>Then he finally cooled down and exhaled.</p><p>His half-hard, squeezed cock hung like a snake between his athletic legs, heavy, long and dripping.<br/>
Nate giggled, like a typical 11 year old boy.</p><p>"Thank you, Claire. I liked that very much", he announced joyfully, went over to the kitchen and<br/>
helped himself with some water. </p><p>What the fuck now, Claire?  How stupid was I? </p><p>Something monstrous just happened, and it wasn't me who felt like the perpetrator. How to carry on from here?<br/>
Compliment each other and say good bye? Coy and awkward stares that will haunt us in sleepless nights for years to come?</p><p>I dived deep into me and what I found did not console me the least, it frightened me!</p><p>I just saw what Nate was capable of. I was pretty damn sure there were millions of his little swimmers still clinging to the back of my throat.<br/>
He returned to the living room, beautifully naked, not shy to flounce it, stared at me, read my face and,what I learned, my thoughts as well. </p><p>Then he plainly announced.</p><p>"I know what you wish the most, Claire. It can be given to you!"</p><p>It was no offer, I reckoned, no suggestion or proposal. But no order or command either. Instead it seemed to be a factual statement, as if no<br/>
human intervention was needed or could influence its outcome..</p><p>I looked up, trying to make sense. </p><p>"What do you mean, Nate?". I hoped for some assertiveness in my voice, but to him, it must have sounded desperate and foolish. </p><p>Now his eyes exuded sadness and empathy. Nate tilted  his head for a second. He approached and sat next to me. </p><p>"I.... I see what torments your soul, Claire, and I feel very sorry about it."</p><p>His hand reached out and touched my cheek. He tenderly stroked it.</p><p>"You want nothing more than a baby, You and Tom try for years now, and it slowly eats your soul.", he stated calmly.</p><p>I blenched, completely shocked. How could he know? For a split second I wanted to jump up and scream all my anguish at him,<br/>
but instead, I stared, in horror and fell back little later, defeated and empty.I just accepted his insight, as if he was a close friend, privy to my ordeals,<br/>
I gazed at Nate again, my eyes wet and i nodded weakly.</p><p>"Just say YES, and i will gift you a healthy baby boy!", he offered.</p><p>He laid out his plan:</p><p>"You are receptive today. It will be yours and Tom's and nobody ever will know, except you and me. Your mind is beautiful, your soul<br/>
strong and precious. I want you two to be happy again."</p><p>Now I started to sob. I, the grown up woman bawled like a little girl in front of a strange 11 year old boy.  I did not feel shamed.<br/>
He had peered into my soul and empathized with my anguish, felt for me. I hugged him and Nate consoled me for minutes, while I<br/>
relieved myself, he was a surrogate dad now, fatherly and wise, and suddenly, I was no longer subject to his little pervert's game.<br/>
The spell was lifted. </p><p>With clarity regained, I looked at him, full of yearning and longing.<br/>
He, the babyfather prospect, still a boy himself, still frail but nimble, and more powerful and virile<br/>
I could have ever hoped for. It did not need any persuasion, or mind trick. With total conviction I peered at him<br/>
and said. "YES, Nate!"</p><p>We both got up and hugged<br/>
It was no longer a game for him, neither for me, but an act of intimate help for a soul in dire need.<br/>
It was the right thing to do, he figured and I accepted, aching to fulfill my dearest wish.</p><p>When I lead him to the guest room, I sensed the arousal wafting from our bodies.</p><p>I sat down on the bed and becked him. He came close and I allowed for a few silent seconds of admiring his<br/>
obvious beauty. I somehow missed parts of it earlier, when he persuaded me to perform the little blowjob<br/>
downstairs. </p><p>But gosh, he was probably a hunk in progress, his youthful muscles tense and firm. The boyish chest, full of anticipation,<br/>
heaving up and down, his shoulders still slim and innocent, the legs and calfs strong and delicately chiseled by 1000s miles<br/>
of cycling.  And what a cute butt Nate had, firm, round, delicious and in perfect proportion to the rest of his frame. </p><p>I kneaded it tenderly, as my hands felt his shoulders and back, noted the humming of his body, the anticipatory tension in him.<br/>
Then of course, is dick, but it needed no further introduction.</p><p>After a minute I could not hold up the tease and foreplay any longer. I was too worn and strained,<br/>
too eager to get it finished and feel his seed in me. Thus, the act of baby-making commenced.</p><p>How it went, you may ask?</p><p>Well, what does an eleven year old boy even know about sex? </p><p>Heck, when I was 11, sex was a dirty word, uttered behind the back, giggling. A mystery, somehow connected to the remote world<br/>
of adulthood and having fun with each other.  And when sex-ed came, I remember, we were appalled and disgusted, the act was shown<br/>
with scientific bluntness and cold. Nobody of us could imagine it being fun. We even questioned our parent's sanity for having us in<br/>
the first place.</p><p>How could people do something so icky, willfully?</p><p>Later when we gained our own experiences in the field, in tree houses, at the creek during night swimming, on the backseat of a car,<br/>
we realized, human emotions, senses and urges, cushion and protect us from the  mechanical, cold aspects of it.<br/>
The act was expanded by adding intimacy, closeness, longing and bliss. Piece by piece each of us worked on this little puzzle and we<br/>
ended up with an ever incomplete, but more comprehensive picture of the mystery. </p><p>So what does an eleven year old boy know about it? </p><p>Nothing!!</p><p>But Nate was different!</p><p>And I was positively surprised. Nate wasn't gentle, but energetic and brash, and to be honest, I didn't mind at all. I wanted to experience<br/>
him like he was: unfinished, uninhibited and boyish blunt, yet sincere, frightening because of his powers, yet close and intimate when he<br/>
empathized with me.</p><p>He  devoured my body with his strokes and kisses, petted my breasts and painfully erect nipples,  explored the slick wetness of my pussy with<br/>
his fingers and licked them clean afterwards! What a naughty boy!</p><p>I embraced his vibrating, youthful frame and sensed the wiry muscles moving, the accelerating breath and his engorged, throbbing<br/>
member between us, slippery and pulsating, full of anticipation! I had no idea, how often he had done this in his young life, but it became<br/>
obvious, he had was a quick learner!</p><p>And oh, how it felt, when he finally entered me. He was a bit impatient and eager,  stretched me painfully good. Nate  was way bigger than<br/>
Tom and for a moment I felt just a bit intimidated  by the boy's panting attempts to stuff his monster in me. But after a while he succeeded,<br/>
the pain subsided and  was replaced by a stretched-out and stuffed feeling. Nate filled me completely and then a little more, moaned<br/>
and whimpered, while I was hit by a blast wave of arousal. </p><p>His slight upward bent stimulated  strange and unknown parts in me and then he began to pump with vigor and dedication.</p><p>"It feels so good", he moaned as he picked up pace, his boyish hips moved swift and gracefully, our bodies smacked and collided.<br/>
Energetic soon became powerful and thrusting,  and I began to adore his youthful stamina. </p><p>The tingling sensation in me, soon made way for a forceful clamping. My pussy, stretched to its absolute limits, strangled his angry cock,<br/>
fought for room and dominance, and I began to lose it, let out a long, bloodcurling moan while he carried on smacking  with all he had<br/>
in store for me.</p><p>Then my orgasm came as a  carthartic blast wave. At the same moment Nate rammed into my cervix. A sudden, sharp pain robbed my<br/>
breath and mingled with the pleasure of my climax, formed a mind numbing, ambiguous construct of bliss and suffering<br/>
that devoured me. </p><p>With a whimper and his teeth nibbling on the lower lip, my little baby father threw back his head.<br/>
His body trembled. For one last time, he went into me, directly to the portal of my womb,  invested all his strength to go as deep as he could,<br/>
rested there, and began to unleash. </p><p>I wouldn't consider myself a fetishist when it comes to shooting. But I love a good show when I see one. In this case, sadly, it was all concealed<br/>
and private. And yet, with every fiber of my body I could sense the massive splatters of Nate's cum flooding my innards. It was heavenly, powerful,<br/>
virile, and the boy completely exhausted himself while cumming his sweet little brains out. </p><p>After 6 or seven of his spurts, I sensed how it flooded back on the towel beneath us, but I kept still, until he collapsed between my breasts,<br/>
drained and happy - a big puddle of our mixed emissions between our legs. </p><p>For a while, there was nothing. Just slowly decelerating breathing, a silent moan and whimper. I felt calm and satiated, embraced the shivering boy,<br/>
ruffled his damp chestnut hair and enjoyed the warm afterglow of our act. It was not the greatest sex I ever had, but hopefully the most important.</p><p>"What do you think, Nate. Will it work?", I whispered while stroking his back.</p><p>He gazed at me, exhausted and smiled weakly.</p><p>"If THIS doesn't work, than nothing will!". His head fell back between my breasts.</p><p>"I thank you, Nate", I mumbled, exhaled and rested for another 10 minutes.</p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p>Things moved fast after we regained some strength. We went to the showers, Nate slipped into Tom's old clothes and for a second I suffered a strange<br/>
deja-vu, imagined him being the Tom of old, my High School sweetheart, and grimaced. It took me 1 minute to google Nate's home address and<br/>
telephone number, brewed a coffee, collected myself and called.</p><p>Mrs. Miller's voice was bland and quiet.</p><p>i gave her a short summary of the situation and whereabouts of her offspring.<br/>
She reacted apathetic and I was puzzled.</p><p>Of curse she asked if Nate was OK, but there was no excitement or agitation in her voice. Instead of relief I found neutral acknowledgement. </p><p>I shrugged and hung up.</p><p>Nate and I got into the Volvo again. During the 20 minute drive there was silence between us. But no regret or hidden reproach hung in the air -<br/>
the vibrations were neutral and balanced - as if a contract was fulfilled, a debt payed -  no further interaction was warranted.<br/>
The silence was not overwhelming, but I admit it bothered me.  Nate however, appeared calm and relaxed, a satisfied, faint grin on his face.<br/>
When I finally tried to start a conversation and thanked him again, he nodded.</p><p>Then, with a serious glance, he replied:</p><p>"It's now yours and Tom's, like I said. I will never talk about this again!".</p><p>A closing statement. Definitive, but not cold. And yet I was surprised by its assertiveness and detachment.<br/>
Was this how he dealt with the prospect of probably  never meeting his child? Did he fear, one day he would,<br/>
succumbing to fatherly conscientiousness, trying to contact me? I shrugged and kept silence. </p><p>We reached the destination. Nate's home was a wooden, shabby house, behind a scrap-filled, overgrown front yard<br/>
A frail, bleached wooden  fence surrounded the property. </p><p>I stopped, Nate got out, went to the trunk and balanced his bicycle to the ground.  Then he pushed it slowly to the shoddy garage<br/>
next to the house.</p><p>Meanwhile his mother approached. I left the my car and gazed at her.</p><p>She was a thin, small woman, I guessed in her mid forties. Her greying, straight, brunette hair was tied to a long pigtail.<br/>
She wore a bleached jeans jacket and mustered me with an ambiguous look. </p><p>"Hello Mrs. Miller", I greeted friendly while she reluctantly shook my hand.</p><p>"I bring your son, hopefully intact, but the bike and his phone suffered a few scratches",I announced casually and smiled at her.</p><p>Mrs Miller stared at me for a while. Nate returned, hugged his mother and was immediately asked to leave.</p><p>"Thanks for all, Claire, Good Bye!".<br/>
Nate waved and smiled, turned around and went into the house, still gingerly.</p><p>"Thanks for you help, Claire!", Mrs. Miller finally addressed me. </p><p>"Nathaniel can fix the  bicycle himself. But the phone is broken for weeks now", she explained.<br/>
I felt a rush of adrenaline pulse through my veins.</p><p>"How was he?", his mother asked and peered at me. </p><p>For a second I feared to faint. Did I blush? I prayed to god, my swelling throat wouldn't  squeeze my voice to a miserable croak.<br/>
Why did Nate tell me the phone was cracked during his accident?</p><p>And what did this question even mean? How was he? </p><p>Hurt and injured he was, and then amicable and debonair, then naughty and frightening, and at last he was energetic and helpful, Mrs. Miller.<br/>
Was it this, she wanted me to confess?</p><p>Seconds ticket by and I tried to collect myself.</p><p>"He behaved very well. I discovered him on my walk with my dog, Kerry, in the woods 15 miles away.<br/>
Since his bike was bent and he could not remember your phone number, I took him to my home, helped with his scratches<br/>
and  gave him some clothes. The dirty ones are in the bag", I explained to her, but it sounded more like a lame excuse<br/>
than a truthful account of the past events. I handed her the bag.</p><p>"Thanks. But how was he?", she asked again, not reproachful but with slight worry in her voice.</p><p>Her question seemingly pointed at the core of our illicit deeds. But dear god, why?<br/>
Did she have a phone in her pocket, recording everything, to tip off the police?<br/>
I just could not answer -  desperate and miserable.<br/>
This was a nightmare!</p><p>"Was he kind and friendly?", Mrs Miller asked, bland and without emotion.</p><p>I shrugged.</p><p>"I am sorry, Mrs Miller, I don't think I ..." </p><p>"Claire, don't be foolish!"; she reprehended me. "I know my son. I saw the peaceful glimmer in his eyes. I know ... he relieved himself."</p><p>I swallowed, exposed to my bones, waiting for the gates of hell to open and devour me.</p><p>"Yes, Mrs. Miller, he was .... very kind indeed!", I stammered and prayed for a stroke to fell me on the spot.<br/>
Let my misery end right here! </p><p>Finally she grinned. There was no amusement in her smile, but relief instead.</p><p>"Fine then. Sometimes Nathaniel is angry and furious. Then you don't want to be near him".</p><p>She paused for a few seconds.</p><p>"He is my son, and I love him, but ... nothing is hidden from him. You learned that Claire, didn't you?".</p><p>I slowly nodded.</p><p>"He must have liked you. You are not the first strange woman returning my boy. I just want to make sure, you are OK.<br/>
I am sure he IS.", she remarked.</p><p>Finally some hope returned.</p><p>"Yes, I am very OK, Mrs. Miller"</p><p>"Very well, then. Good Bye, Claire!".<br/>
She turned around and walked back to the house, slow and tired. </p><p> </p><p>And now I understood. </p><p>There she went, mother to a child with a frightening, strange gift, stoicly carrying her burden, its weight bearing down on her constantly,<br/>
her love still intact, but strained and battered by his powers. She had probably lost control over her own flesh and blood years ago,<br/>
saw him mature, terrify and overpower her, and yet, she went on.</p><p>How must it be to live with him? </p><p>I felt a deep appreciation for her and walked to my car, dumbfounded and humbled. </p><p>I drove back, slowly and lost in an ocean of thoughts, pondered how much of it all was  coincidence or destiny, where his sway began<br/>
and my will ended, but who could tell exactly?</p><p>In hindsight it was very likely he saw all through me from the moment we met,  read  my thoughts and inner musings, still decided to come<br/>
with me, have some fun, "relieve himself" as his mother described it. What an euphemism for what just happened!</p><p>Then he discovered my despair and offered his help.  I never felt so abused and cared for at the same moment. It was strange.</p><p>After my rationalization I still embraced the memory of his samaritian act, the exhausting<br/>
thrust and his powerful pulsing in me and was eternally thankful for his gift.</p><p>Until now we haven't seen each other again, nor exchanged a single message or phone call. And since your ... organization has<br/>
found him now, I guess it's for the better. I hope, he is well. I'd really want to tell him, that it worked out<br/>
just fine - all his efforts were worth it!</p><p> </p><p>. . . </p><p>A few days later Tom returned and we had the greatest welcome-back sex ever. He was horny and eager and I?<br/>
I was full of anticipation and near certainty, that it would work this time.</p><p>4 weeks later I was officially pregnant and the joy and tears in our eyes were immeasurable. Tom felt reinstated and rehabilitated.<br/>
We would soon be a real, little family, with a kid!</p><p>The good news and my slowly growing belly reinforced the bond between us. I was able to detach myself from all second thoughts and doubts.<br/>
Of course I knew, what really happened, but chose to ignore it, for the sake of our marriage and sanity.<br/>
Because sometimes you find relief in the aspects of life not exposed to you. In Tom's case, it rang absolutely true.<br/>
Ignorance is bliss, they say and I fought hard to follow this mantra.</p><p>A little later it became obvious, it would be a boy. How could Nate know? Maybe he didn't. After all, it's a fifty-fifty chance.<br/>
We chose a name for our son: Eric.</p><p>The ultrasound pictures showed his delicate, tiny body, floating and twitching, like an alien life form, strangely fascinating and adorable.<br/>
And they revealed a prominent, protruding limb between his legs: an already oversized penis, throbbing and eternally  erect. I felt proud and<br/>
peculiarly aroused.</p><p>Some mothers develop a morbid fascination and attachment to their child, especially if it's a boy. And the thought that I may be consumed<br/>
by such a depraved affection made me shudder. I hastily buried that notion and yet, now and then it returned, nagging and luring, urged me to<br/>
explore the boundaries of motherly love in my fantasy.  I admit, I gave in sometimes, pining for Eric to finally appear. </p><p>. . . </p><p>Eric is now 2 years old and the light of my life. He's a bright and lively toddler, speaks fluently, is inquisitive and kind. He got daddy's sparkling<br/>
grey-green eyes and my sandy blonde hair. And of course, just like his daddy, he's a naughty little boy.</p><p>His little underpants are overflowing with a hefty, oversized, thick boy cock, already 5 inches long,  with  fat and smooth balls. I love when he<br/>
is storming through the house, naked and giggling, after  escaping from the bathroom, when he's sitting on the ground in front of his toys and<br/>
absentmindedly  fiddles around until it grows and gets hard. </p><p>I sit still and watch wide-eyed, under his spell, as my son walks towards me, naked and throbbing, to show me how big it already is.<br/>
I am a proud mother now - just a little bit worried about going insane soon -  and reach out to grasp the forbidden fruit again,<br/>
wondering if this is the punishment for my deeds...</p><p> </p><p>=== END OF REPORT ===</p><p>______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________</p><p> </p><p>
  <tt>Subject Identification: Nathaniel Miller, Jr.<br/>
Institute ID: 008231-14<br/>
Class: Newcomer<br/>
Investigator: James Lynch, SDI<br/>
Subject Status: Incorporated and Active </tt>
</p><p><tt>Note:</tt><br/>
<tt>According to the rules of procedure, the reporter has been relieved of all recollections in relation to the encounter after the testimony.<br/>
It's advised, that Eric Williams will be examined around 2021-04 to assess his status.</tt></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello and thanks for your read,<br/>As always I hope you enjoyed this little story. This is the first of a number of<br/>one chapter stories, supporting the world we explored in "The Special Gift"<br/>Let me know what you think of it. And sorry for the slow burn. :)<br/>I am looking forward to your comments</p></blockquote></div></div>
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